Great Bear of the North
by DovahKendov
Summary: Done living in Bruma as a Thieves Guild fence, the Dovahkiin tries to return to Skyrim, but is captured by Imperial soldiers. She is taken prisoner amongst Stormcloaks, and the leader of the rebellion himself, Ulfric Stormcloak. Once she escapes Helgen, her life becomes filled with havoc, and she finds herself fighting for Ulfric's cause - and his affection.
1. Prologue

AN: I've completed an edited version of this story on AO3. Please jump to the last chapter (6) for the link! Thanks :)

* * *

The strange sound echoes through the sky once more. "There it is again. Did you hear that?"

"I _said_ , next prisoner!" The Imperial officer yells, disregarding the noise completely, pointing towards the only female in the group. She swallows the lump in her throat, coming to realize there really is no way out of her untimely demise. Sure, she was crossing the Cyrodiil-Skyrim border with a few stolen goods, but to be caught up in an Imperial ambush aimed for capturing Stormcloak rebels? She thought she would be able to get out of it, but the Empire was not having her story, promptly knocking her out and taking her prisoner. In Cyrodiil, she had barely listened to stories about this silly little rebellion. She heard some talk of the 'Great Bear of the North' and his big plan to dismantle the Empire and the Thalmor Dominion, but she could not be so gullible as to believe one man could make such a big change in the province. Yet, here she was, about to be executed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time with said 'Great Bear' and his followers.

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."  
Stepping forward, she faces the block and begins to kneel down accordingly, but is shoved down by a boot on the middle of her back. Grunting, her head collides with the stone block, her eyes becoming fixated on the masked executioner. The stone smells of fresh blood from the prisoner beheaded before her, and she tries her hardest not to inhale the scent. Just as the headsman begins to lift his axe, something glides across the sky, emitting a loud screech.  
"What in Oblivion is that?!" The horrified yell comes from behind her.  
"Sentries, what do you see?" The Imperial officer calls, but the question is answered itself as the beast lands directly onto a tower behind them, sending a thud throughout the ground, knocking down the executioner. The screams of ' _dragon!_ ' fills her ears right before the creature creates a booming noise in the sky, causing a thick grey cloud to form, balls of fire hurling to the ground as Imperials attempt to shoot arrows into the monster. Nearly knocked unconscious by another powerful boom from the dragon, she faces the ground and tries to collect her bearings in order to run to safety.  
"Hey, prisoner, get up! Come on! The Gods won't give us another chance!" The blonde Stormcloak, Ralof, urges her. "This way!"  
She looks up, scrambling to her feet to follow him into a tower. Shutting the door behind him, she saunters into the middle of the tower, her wrists still in binds, and faces Ralof, who is standing before the leader of the Rebellion himself.  
"Jarl Ulfric," he addresses the leader, his voice shaken and panicky, "what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"  
The man straightens himself up, looking directly at Ralof, and then at her. "Legends don't burn down villages."

At this point, if they all survived this, she knew she was going to find the rebel leader in Windhelm. His voice was mellifluous yet powerful; something she could listen to for the rest of her life. He spoke no more than five words, and she found herself swooning over this man. Her quick infatuation was broken by ferocious screeches from the dragon, and she broke the eye contact with the rebel. Returning her gaze to Ralof, he issues for her to follow, and he climbs the steps of the tower. Obediently, she follows, wanting to survive no matter what. She had barely spoken to the Stormcloak on the way to Helgen, but she felt herself trusting him, believing he could help her escape alive. As they are climbing the steps, the wall on the second landing caves in, and the dragon forces a spout of fire into the tower, nearly knocking her down the stairs. Ralof grasps her arm tightly and holds her steadily until the dragon flies off. He instructs her to jump through the hole onto the inn, and informs her that they will soon follow and meet her on the other side. Doing just so, she lands on the hard wood floor and grunts in pain, struggling to get to her feet. Hands still bound, she manages to slide through a hole in the wood onto the main level, running out into the open again. Encountering the Imperial soldier that sent her to be executed even though she was not on the list was one of things she wanted to avoid, but, to her dismay, she came face to face with him.  
"Still alive, prisoner? Stick with me if you want to stay that way." The soldier, who she heard being called Hadvar, snaps, ushering her towards the wall as the dragon lands only a few feet away from her. Just as it flies off, Hadvar commands her to trail behind, and she does just that, wanting to leave alive. Following him through a maze of broken debris, she encounters Ralof again. He calls to her, gesturing towards the Keep. Without a second thought, she realizes she shouldn't be escaping with the man who sent her to be killed for no reason. Suddenly, she swerves to the right and follows the rebel Ralof into Helgen Keep.


	2. Taking Up Arms

The days after Helgen seemed like a blur to her. Ralof and his family helped her back onto her feet after she lost everything she had while trying to come home to Skyrim, and then he promised he'd vouch for her if she ever went to join ranks with the Stormcloaks. Not only did she build her strength, but she found out she was Dovahkiin - dragonborn - and her voice could be used to her advantage. She made her home in Whiterun, becoming good friends with her appointed housecarl Lydia, as well as became an ally and thane to Jarl Balgruuf. He had no stance on the war at the time, but she knew he would be upset if she took up arms with the rebels. Regardless, she was determined to take revenge on the Empire. They nearly murdered her, and for what? Nothing that had to do with her. Stronger than ever, the Dovahkiin knew it was time to make an addition to the Stormcloak ranks.

* * *

Arriving in Windhelm, she thought about seeking out Ralof. She owed him more than she could ever repay him, and, although she would not say it out loud, she missed his presence. Living in the same home as him for months made her affection for him grow strongly, as if he was the boy next door that she was infatuated with from her childhood. They would spend most nights laying in the grass, and Ralof would tell her stories of his battles with the Stormcloaks. She dabbled in the thought of fighting alongside him for Ulfric, silently promising that if she ever made her way to Windhelm, she would inquire about it. The last time she saw Ralof, she was about to go to Whiterun, to her new house, Breezehome, and she bid him good luck with the war. His face was solemn, and he had left a single kiss on her forehead. Now, she had no idea if he was even alive. She felt guilty about never reaching out to him over the past year and a half, but she figured she would meet him again in battle if he had made it this far.

Pushing all thoughts aside, the dragonborn heads towards the Palace of Kings, ignoring looks from the citizens of the city. She marches right up the steps and shoves open the large doors of the building. Immediately, she is greeted by two guards.  
"I've got my eye on you." One of them says to her and she scoffs, continuing through the main hall.  
She notices the back of the Palace is empty, but she hears faint talking in the room to her left. Patiently, she awaits the arrival of the Jarl to his throne. Hearing footsteps approach her direction, her eyes become trained on the floor until she hears someone settling in on the throne. Gazing up, she makes eye contact with Ulfric. Her breathing stops as she takes in his figure for the first time since Helgen, but she recollects herself and steps forward.

"My liege-" she begins, but is promptly cut off.  
"Only the foolish or courageous approach a Jarl without summons." He interjects, his deep voice echoing throughout the hall. He stands up and crosses his arms. "Do I know you?"  
"I believe we've already met." She replies, her brows furrowing together. Surely he had to remember her.  
"Is that so?" His face contorts into confusion, but then it relaxes, and he uncrosses his arms. "Ah, yes. You were with us at Helgen. Destined for the _chopping block_ , if I'm not mistaken."  
"I helped Ralof escape. He said he'd vouch for me." The dragonborn crosses her own arms, ignoring his jab.  
"Ralof is a damn good man. I do recall him speaking highly of you when he returned to the city, but he did not say when or if you would come join the fight." Ulfric gives her a once over. "You are rather... petite. We will have to test your battle skill."

She lets out a sigh of relief when she hears that Ralof is still alive, but she tries her hardest not to look annoyed with the Jarl. Did he not realize she was the Dovahkiin everyone was raging about? Whether or not she was small shouldn't matter! She was here to fight for Skyrim, for Ralof, for _him_.  
She watches him as he steps down from his throne and heads back to the room in which he came. He beckons for her to follow, and she slowly walks behind him down the short corridor. Ulfric's great figure moves to the left, around a table with a map on it, outlining the locations of Stormcloak and Imperial camps throughout the province. A man decorated with bear fur armor is leaning against the table, and she stands on the east side of the table, in between the two men.

"Galmar," Ulfric's voice fills her ears again, and she smiles softly to herself. Five words were spoken in her presence the first time she saw him, and they rang in her head ever since. ' _Legends don't burn down villages._ '  
"Yes, Ulfric?" The gravelly voice comes from the Stormcloak officer, his eyes focused on the map. "Do you have our next advances?"  
"Not yet, but I do have the Helgen woman that Ralof spoke about here with us." he replies, gesturing to the Dovahkiin. She pries her eyes away from Ulfric to look at Galmar.  
"Hmm, Helgen, eh?" Galmar says, looking her up and down the exact same way the Jarl did, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Ulfric told us quite the story. If you made it through all that, you're likely worth something to me."

"Why would you let this tiny woman fight for us? I bet she can barely carry a greatsword." A voice comes from behind her, and she whips around to see another man, taller than Galmar but equipped in the same attire, looking at her with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face.  
"Yrsarald, you need to learn to hold your tongue. This is the one from Helgen." Ulfric snaps, jumping to the Dovahkiin's defense before she can even open her mouth. "I doubt even you would have made it out of there in one piece."  
Yrsarald rolls his eyes at Ulfric and shakes his head. "I say we let her go. We don't need her."  
Ulfric gives her a look, and then lets out a sigh. When she realizes he isn't going to speak any further, she steps up to the tall Nord, putting her hands on her hips. "I feel I would be useful to this cause, being _dragonborn_ and all. The Empire needs to be stripped of their power, and I would be more than enthused to help with that. I don't think it's up to you whether or not I join, so keep your annoying comments to yourself, will you?" she huffs, giving him a disgusted look. She then turns around and sees Galmar's mouth wide open, and Ulfric looks concerned. Feeling panicked, she wonders if she got too cocky.  
"Dragonborn, you say?" Ulfric questions, stepping closer to the woman. She nods. "Galmar, take her to get fitted for some armor. Welcome to the Stormcloak ranks."  
"As you command, Ulfric." Galmar replies, and his hand grabs her arm gently, urging her towards the corridor.

She takes one last look at Yrsarald, who looks completely shocked. She smirks at him and hurries off with Galmar, excitement taking over her nerves.

* * *

Suited up in her new armor, the Dovahkiin steps out of the barracks and into the main hall. She looks to her right, where Ulfric is once again seated in his throne. She quickly saunters over to him.  
"My lord, I have a question before I head out to rest for the night." She says after quickly bowing to him.  
"Please, call me Ulfric." he urges, and she makes eye contact with him. She becomes more relaxed when she sees his facial expression is soft, and that there is a warmth in his eyes. "What can I do for you?"  
"Do you know where I could find Ralof?" she asks quietly, and she sees him shift in his seat, as if he is uncomfortable, his face becoming neutral again.  
"He's staying at Candlehearth Hall tonight, if I'm not mistaken. But he will be heading out in the morning on that mission I spoke to you about, so I expect to see both of you there on the front lines." His voice became louder, more authoritative as he spoke. She nodded thankfully.  
"Thank you, my l-...Ulfric." she quickly corrected herself, and bowed once again. "I will see you after the mission tomorrow, sir. Good night."  
Turning on a quick heel, she began to walk towards the doors of the Palace of Kings. "We will see. Talos guide you." she heard Ulfric mutter behind her, and in that moment, it hit her that he had doubts about her, whether she was Dovahkiin or not.

* * *

The dragonborn steps out into the snowy conditions of Windhelm, the cool winter air attacking her exposed arms. She shivers, and marches down the steps directly towards Candlehearth Hall, holding onto her blade so it didn't clatter against her armor. Throwing open the door, she steps into the warmer area, and goes to the barkeeper. "Do you know where I could find a blonde Nord who goes by Ralof?" she questions, her voice hopeful. The barkeeper tells her he should be in his room, which was down the hall and the second door on the right. She expresses her thanks and heads down the hall, her fur boots thumping on the wood floor. She comes to his door and exhales deeply, raising her right hand to knock on the door three times.  
"Come on in," the thick, familiar Nordic accent calls out from behind the door, and the dragonborn reaches for the door handle, twisting and pushing the door in.  
"Ralof." she breathes out, only seeing the back of his head. Almost instantly, Ralof's head turned at the sound of the voice his heart knew so well. He gasps out her name and nearly lunges for her, bringing her into his embrace.  
"I can't believe you're finally here with me now." Ralof says softly, and pulls back to plant a kiss on her forehead, just like he did the last time he saw her. "You don't know how many times I've wanted to go out and look for you."  
"I was all over Skyrim." she says, pulling back and holding his shoulders. She studies his face, noticing a healing wound on the bridge of his nose. He looks more tired than she remembers; older, even. He no longer looked as boyish, but more mature and manly. She smiles wide. "I missed you so much, Ralof."  
"It's so good to hear you say my name again." He grins, and hugs her once more. "And I _knew_ you'd join up! Great news. We'll take back Skyrim together, eh? I'm glad I'll have you beside me out there."

* * *

The pair sat and talked in Ralof's rented room all night, catching up as much as they could before the tiredness washed over them. Ralof offered for her to stay the night, suggesting they share a bed, which she accepted graciously, not minding that they would be so close together in bed overnight. They stripped out of their armor and she slipped into the bed next to him in her smallclothes, their bare skin that was usually covered meeting for the first time, and they drifted off into deep sleep, sharing heat, both dreaming of their future battles together.


	3. Battle of Solitude

"This is it, men! It's time to make this city ours! We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and the courage of our fellows. Those who have fallen. And those still bearing the shields to our right. On this day, our enemy will witness the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger and the exalted righteousness of our cause. The gods are watching. The spirits of our ancestors are stirring. And the men under suns yet to dawn will be transformed by what we do here today. Fear neither pain, nor darkness. For Sovngarde awaits those who die with weapons in their hands, and courage in their hearts. We now fight our way to Castle Dour to cut the head off the legion itself! And in that moment, the gods will look down and see Skyrim as she was meant to be. Full of Nords who are mighty, powerful, and free! Ready now! Everyone, with me! For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

Ulfric's rousing speech was one that would resonate in the minds of Stormcloaks for eras to come. Standing in front of Castle Dour, the dragonborn stood in the front lines with Ralof and Galmar at her side, stretching their arms back and forth, weapons drawn.  
"I'll be with you every step of the way." Ralof says to the Dovahkiin, his voice reassuring, yet she detects a hint of fear.  
"Talos be with you, Ralof." she says back to him, giving him a soft smile. She knew he would end up being separated from her once they entered battle. The Gods only knew how many soldiers were waiting to spill the Stormcloaks blood behind the city's walls.

"Ready now! Everyone, with me! For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!" Ulfric spins around and marches towards the doors, his soldiers following right behind him.

* * *

The battle was bloody, to say the least. The dragonborn has seen plenty of fights in her life, but never has she faced so much death and blood at once. She swung her blade at Imperials, striking them down with one or two hits. She hears Ulfric using his thu'um, the loud shouts echoing throughout the blazing city. Ralof had gotten swept up in his own fight, just as the Dovahkiin predicted. When Imperials were no longer in her way, she storms through down the road, her cuirass shifting heavily on her body as she moves as quickly as she can. She catches up with Ulfric, who is breaking down a barricade that protects Castle Dour. Galmar is at his side, and he swings one last time at the wood, and it crumbles to the ground.  
"Stormblade!" Galmar calls, and she meets up with the two men. "Glad to see you caught up. Let's go."

The trio march right into the courtyard of Castle Dour, and they see a group of Imperials waiting for them. The dragonborn moves to the left of Ulfric, coming face to face with the enemy. She brings down her weapon directly into the Imperial's left shoulder, bringing him to his knees.  
"I cannot best you!" He screams, but the dragonborn spins around, her blade making contact with the mans neck, cutting right through the flesh. Blood spurts out of the wound and coats the front of her armor and her lower neck. Grunting with disgust, she continues to beat down any Imperial that she crosses, and she comes to the door to Castle Dour. She looks back and sees Ulfric and Galmar coming towards her. She opens the door and allows the two men to enter before her, and she closely follows.

Only once has she ever been in Castle Dour, and it was when she retrieved a book for Captain Aldis. Such a menial task, but all she wanted to do was help. Now, she fought for the opposing team, and they were seconds away from winning.

"Secure the door." Ulfric commands, sheathing his blade.  
"Already done." Galmar replies, and does the same.  
Taking the hint, the dragonborn slips her blade away into its sheath. Walking behind Ulfric and Galmar, she sees Legate Rikke, standing in front of General Tullius.

"Ulfric. Stop." she pleads, placing her hands on her hips. Her eyes are begging, but her face is blank as she stares into the face of the rebellion leader.  
"Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who'd leave her to rot?" he snaps, walking towards her. He stops only a few feet away.  
"You're wrong. Ulfric. We _need_ the Empire. Without it, Skyrim will assuredly fall to the Dominion." Legate Rikke protests, her left hand slipping down to the handle of her blade.  
"You were there with us. You saw it. The day the Empire signed that damn treaty was the day the Empire died." Galmar interjects, taking a spot on the right of Ulfric. The dragonborn remains silent, as if she's invisible.  
"The Empire is weak, obsolete. Look at how far we've come and with so little. When we're done rooting out Imperial influence here at home, then we will take our war to the Aldmeri Dominion." Ulfric says, the determination shining in his voice. She had no doubts about his plans to destroy the Dominion.  
"You're a damn fool." Rikke sighs, her eyes never breaking Ulfric's gaze.  
"Stand aside woman. We've come for the General." Galmar hisses, unsheathing his blade, preparing his attack.  
"He has given up. But I have not." She says defiantly, taking a step closer to Ulfric. Although she seems composed, the dragonborn can now see the fear in her eyes as she comes closer to the man who was about to ruin the Empire.  
"Rikke. Go. You're free to leave." Ulfric says, almost as if he's begging.

The dragonborn's eyes flick over to Ulfric when she detects the pleading in his voice. Her eyes widen when she realizes there must be history between the two, and her brows furrow together. In her time for serving for Ulfric, she has never once heard his voice so soft, so gentle. The gap between him speaking and anyone else replying seemed like ages to the Dovahkiin.  
"I'm also free to stay and fight for what I believe in." Rikke says. She has the chance to leave, to be spared, yet she chooses to stare death right in the face.  
Ulfric sighs, shaking his head. " And you're also free to die for it."  
"This is what you wanted? Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart? _This_ is the Skyrim you want?!" Her voice becomes louder with each word, the anger becoming apparent on her face. She unsheathes her blade. "That's not the Skyrim I want to live in."  
"Rikke. You don't have to do this." Ulfric exclaims, and Galmar unsheathes his weapon as soon as he hears the dragonborn pull out her own.  
"You've left me no choice... Talos preserve us." Rikke answers, and she lunges for Galmar, whose blade clashes with hers. Ulfric's blade crashes into her shield, and he staggers back. Rikke turns her back to the dragonborn as she continues to swing at Galmar. Harshly, the Dovahkiin grabs Rikke by her shoulder with her left hand and yanks her back. With one hard swing backwards, the dragonborn drives her blade through Rikke's back, and it slides out the other side of her torso. Rikke cries out, and her body goes limp as the dragonborn removes her blade from her body, the blood already beginning to pool at their feet. She looks up at Ulfric and Galmar, who have already brought General Tullius down to his knees.

Gasping, Tullius surrenders himself completely.  
"This is it for you. Any last words before I send you to Oblivion?" Ulfric asks, swinging his arm back and forth ever so slightly.  
"You realize this is _exactly_ what they wanted." Tullius breathes out, looking up at the trio with pain on his face.  
"What _who_ wanted?" Galmar questions, giving the General a quizzical look.  
"The Thalmor." Tullius answers spitefully. "They stirred up trouble here. Forced us to divert needed resources and throw away good soldiers quelling this rebellion."  
"It's a little more than a rebellion, don't you think?" Ulfric quips, a small smirk on his face, as if this was a joking situation. Galmar chuckles slightly.  
"We aren't the bad guys, you know."  
"Maybe not, but you certainly aren't the good guys."  
"Perhaps you're right. But then what does that make you?"  
"You just said it yourself."  
"It makes us right." Galmar cuts in smugly.  
"And if I surrender?" Tullius wheezes. The dragonborn knows he is going to die whether he surrenders or not.  
"The Empire I remember never surrendered." Ulfric counters.  
"That Empire is dead. And so are you." Galmar says, clearly ready to eliminate the General.  
"So be it." Tullius exhales, accepting his death.  
"Just kill him and let's be done with it already." Galmar hisses, waving his weapon towards Tullius.  
"Come, Galmar. Where's your sense of the dramatic moment?" Ulfric says, shooting him a side look.  
"By the gods! If it's a good ending to some damn story you're after - perhaps the Dragonborn should be the one to do it." Galmar says, gesturing towards her, and her eyes widen.  
"Good point." Ulfric agrees, turning to face her. "Well, Dragonborn. What do you say? Do you want the honor?"  
Without thought, she nods. "I'll gladly kill him."  
"Dragonborn. Here, use my sword to do it. This moment will be immortalized in song. Make it a good kill." He passes over his Daedric sword, and gives her an assuring look.

Sheathing her own blade, the dragonborn clutches the hilt of the Daedric weapon tightly. Approaching the General, she realizes she's _excited_ to execute this man; she's sending him to his death - just like he was going to do to her back in Helgen. Taking the swords handle in both hands, she raises it above her head and swiftly, she brings it down on the wounded man, the blade smashing through his torn armor and into his flesh. With a loud yelp, Tullius crashes to the ground.  
"Good. It's done." Galmar says approvingly, clapping the Dovahkiin on her back. The two turn to face Ulfric.  
"Well, I suppose some kind of speech is in order." Ulfric shrugs, staring at the dead bodies on the floor.  
"I'll go gather the men in the courtyard."  
"And Elisif?"  
"Don't you worry about her. I've sent my best men to round her up." Galmar assures him, and takes off towards the door they came in.  
"Stormblade," Ulfric says, drawing her near. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and slowly begins to walk towards the door. "I want you to have my sword, a token of my appreciation. Now then. The men will expect a speech. Will you stand by my side? I wish to honor you, Dragonborn, and the truest of Stormcloaks."  
"Of course, my lord." she beams, looking up affectionately at the man who lead her to victory.  
"Very good. Come, the people await us."

* * *

Exiting Castle Dour, the two are greeted by the remainder of the Stormcloaks, Ralof, Galmar, and Jarl Elisif.

"And now, I present to you, Ulfric Stormcloak, hero of the people, liberator and High King of Skyrim!" Galmar yells, and the Stormcloaks cheer. Ulfric ushers the dragonborn to the right of him and he takes his stance in front of the group.

"I am indeed Ulfric Stormcloak, and at my side, the woman we know as Stormblade, and the world knows as the Dragonborn. And indeed, there are many that call us heroes. But it is all of you who are the true heroes! It was you who fought a dying Empire who sunk its claws into our land, trying to drag us down with it. It was you who fought the Thalmor and their puppets who would have us deny our gods and our heritage. It was you who fought your kin who didn't understand our cause, who weren't willing to pay the price of our freedom. But more than that, it was _you_ who fought for Skyrim, for our right to fight our own battles... To return to our glory and traditions, to determine our own future!"

The Stormcloaks let out howls of approval, rejoicing in the courtyard. The dragonborn notices Ralof smiling right at her the whole time.

"And it is for these reasons that I cannot accept the mantle of 'High King.' Not until the Moot declares that title should adorn my shoulders will I accept it."

Somewhere among the group, someone yells out. "And what about Jarl Elisif?"

"Yes, what about the Lady Elisif? Will she put aside her personal hatred for me, and her misplaced love for the Emperor and his coin, so that the suffering of our people will end? Will she acknowledge that it is we Nord's who will determine Skyrim's future? Will she swear fealty to me, so all may know that we are at peace, and a new day has dawned?"

"I do!" Jarl Elisif says, stepping forward from beside Ralof, her arms crossed.

"Then it is settled. The Jarl will continue to rule Solitude, I will garrison armies here to ward off Imperial attempts to reclaim the city. And in due time, the Moot will meet, and settle the claim to High King once and for all. There is much to do, and I need every able bodied man and woman committed to rebuilding Skyrim. A great darkness is growing, and soon we will be called to fight it, on these shores or abroad. The Aldmeri Dominion may have defeated the Empire, but it has not defeated Skyrim!"

This time, the crowd errupted in applause, screams, and cheers, louder than ever. Galmar smiles happily at Ulfric and the dragonborn, clapping along with the rest of the Stormcloaks.  
"As a celebration, I have arranged for us to drink until our bellies are warm and our hearts are content at Candlehearth Hall in seven days time. We hope to see every single one of you there for a good night." The crowd cheers once more, then begins to disperse.

Galmar and Ulfric come to stand in front of the dragonborn, looking satisfied. "How'd I do?" Ulfric asks, looking at the both of them.  
"Eh, not so bad. Nice touch about the High King." Galmar chuckles, patting the Jarl on his shoulder.  
"Thank you, I thought so, too."  
"It's a foregone conclusion, you know."  
"Oh, I know." Ulfric smirks, a small laugh escaping his mouth.  
"The Imperials aren't going to leave us alone. They still have camps in the hills. They'll continue to strike out at us, whenever and wherever they can."  
"I'm not afraid of the remnants of the Legion, in time they'll all give up and go home. What I fear, is that the Thalmor will see our victory here and turn greater attention to our shores. We must be prepared to face them."  
"Aye."  
"And of course, we couldn't have done it without you. May the gods preserve you."  
"May the gods preserve us all." Galmar replies, clapping Ulfric on the arm once more, walking off towards the exit of the courtyard, following behind the group of Stormcloaks.

Ulfric turns to her. "I cannot begin to thank you for all you have done for us, Stormblade." he tells her, his face warm. Was it affection she saw in his eyes? She couldn't be sure, but she smiles at him.  
"It was an honor, my lord."  
"Please, I _insist_ you call me Ulfric. We are close, you and I." He says, his smile turning into a smirk, and she can feel her cheeks getting hot.  
"I'm afraid you will always be my lord." she replies, looking up into his eyes, inching closer to him.  
He looks down at her, accepting her advancement. She couldn't tell if he was going to kiss her, if he was going to embrace her in a way that she's wanted since she enlisted for his cause. Feeling like they were only inches away, she began to move upwards towards his face, only to hear her name being screamed from her right.

Exhaling loudly, she looks to see Ralof running towards her. She begins to grin wildly, and he opens up his arms, sweeping her up into them, twirling her around. "We did it! We showed those dirty Imperials!" he laughs, putting her down on the ground and hugging her. "I can't believe you and I made it so far. We finally get to sit down and talk about our Stormcloak adventures together."  
"All of this was possible because of you, Ralof." she says, poking him in the chest. "I would have never joined up if it wasn't for you."  
"Good. I'm glad. We still have the Dominion to deal with, but we'll still be together through that."  
Mumbling an agreement, she looks over her shoulder to include Ulfric in the conversation, a smile on her face, but when she turns around, her face falls.

He was already gone.


	4. Carouse

After the taking of Solitude, the dragonborn spent a day in Riverwood catching up with Gerdur, Ralof's sister, but returned home to Whiterun to sleep away the restlessness she felt in her bones. Now that she had taken her revenge against the Empire, her life felt... empty. She had no future plans, and no interest in occupying her time, considering the past two years of her life were dedicated to taking back Skyrim. When the night of the victory celebration came around, the Dovahkiin was reluctant to go. She took a carriage to Windhelm, and ended up outside of Candlehearth Hall, staring at the flickering flame in one of the lit cauldrons out front. Letting out a sigh, she began up the steps to the hall and threw open the door. The sounds of singing and laughter erupts around her as she steps inside, and she makes her way upstairs. She spots Ralof sitting with two Stormcloaks she didn't recognize, and she waves in his direction. Grinning, he comes up to her, a bottle of mead in each hand.

"Here, drink up." Ralof says, holding out a bottle to her, still smiling. "You're late, so everyone is already half way to being drunk."  
Graciously, she takes the bottle and takes a swig, the minty taste hitting her tongue. "I can tell. I've never seen Istar so happy before." she smirks, gesturing towards the Stormcloak officer on the other side of the room, his face red from laughing.  
He laughs in response and his hand finds his way to her arm, leading her towards a table. He pulls out a chair for her and then sits down across the table, taking a swig from his own bottle. "What did you do after you left Riverwood?" he asks.  
The dragonborn shrugs. "I slept. Not much else I could do." she mutters, staring at her bottle of mead.  
"I'll be honest, that's all I did, too." Ralof laughs. "Gerdur made these sweet rolls and I couldn't get enough. I've probably gotten fatter already!"  
"You should've brought some for me! I love her sweet rolls... we could've been fat together." she teases, and they both laugh.

* * *

After they each share more details about their past few days, Ralof stands up and stretches. "Say, do you want to go for a walk? This room is heating up with all these people."  
"Alright. But I'm going to get more to drink." The dragonborn says, standing up, feeling the alcohol hit her. She smirks ever so slightly and she walks towards a bucket filled with bottles, grabbing two. Turning around, she gasps loudly, her eyes meeting Ulfric's.  
"Glad you could make it, Stormblade." he says, his voice icy.  
Galmar appears from behind him, and she lets out a sigh of relief. "Dragonborn! You're looking well." he grins, touching her arm slightly.  
"Thank you." she says quietly, avoiding Ulfric's gaze. "Excuse me, but I must be going."

She moves to the side and scurries past the two men, waving to Ralof to come outside. He stands up and follows her out the door, and they begin walking towards the Palace of Kings. They move silently all through the Gray Quarter, sipping on their drinks, until they come to the city's exit to the docks. When they come to the door, Ralof clears his throat, making her turn to look at him.  
Placing his mead bottle on a nearby barrel, he comes forward and she can smell the alcohol on him, wondering if the scent on her is just as strong. Suddenly, Ralof's lips meet hers, surprising her, but she feels his warm body press against hers and she kisses him back. His lips are rough on hers, and his hands cup her cheeks, holding her close. Without thought, her mead bottle crashes to the ground and she puts her hand on the side of his neck, pressing her hips into his. Becoming more aggressive, Ralof pushes her up against the wall, knocking over a barrel or two in the process. She smiles against his lips and his hands move from her face down to her waist, pulling her body against his own.

Silently, Galmar approaches from behind them, sent by Ulfric to find out where the two had gone. Smirking and shaking his head after taking in the sight of the two, he turns around and goes back to Candlehearth Hall. Upon returning, he makes his way over to the Jarl sitting alone in the corner.  
"Well?" Ulfric asks, standing up.  
"They're off being love birds." Galmar cackles, sitting down in a chair, popping open another bottle of ale. "I let them be. No sense in bothering them."  
Ulfric, upset by this news, stares at his second-in-command. "Where?"  
"By the door to the docks." Galmar says, then leans forward, looking up at Ulfric. "Leave them be, Ulfric."  
"No." Ulfric says firmly, and turns around, storming out of the hall.

* * *

Ralof and the dragonborn had separated, the two of them now shy. Ralof grabs his bottle off the barrel and takes another swig, his gaze concentrated on the dragonborn. She looks back at him, her arms crossed, feeling slight euphoria from their exchange. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ulfric coming up the stairs, his irritation apparent on his face. The Dovahkiin straightens herself up, watching him approach swiftly.  
"My Jarl," Ralof begins, but a hiccup escapes his lips.  
"Ralof, return to Candlehearth. I need a moment with Stormblade here." Ulfric says, not looking away from her.  
"Of course." he replies, hiccuping again, giving the dragonborn a look before stumbling off towards the Gray Quarter again.

Ulfric steps closer to her, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed together. "I hear you and Ralof got quite... intimate." he comments spitefully, his face becoming red.  
"What does it matter to you?" she retorts. Normally, she wouldn't be this snappy with her superior, but the alcohol had her brain all muddled. "You ignored my advances during the entire war! It's not like you care."  
"You think I don't care?" Ulfric's voice comes out hurt, and her eyes widen at his tone. He coughs, as if his pitch was a mistake. "I needed you to fight for the cause, not spend nights in my bedchambers."  
The dragonborn is taken aback by his comment, then looks down, frowning. "I did fight for the cause. I fought for _you_."  
"And we wouldn't have won the war if it wasn't for you." Ulfric says, his fingers lifting up her chin lightly, making her look at him. "Talos brought you to us. To me." The dragonborn relaxes at his touch, but all too quickly he moves his hand away.  
"Ulfric..." she begins, wanting to make her move on him, her hand coming up to gently grab onto his fur cloak, looking up at him with pleading eyes.  
"No!" he snaps, knowing exactly what she wants, and he pushes her hand away. "You are drunk. I will take you to your room, and that's all."  
The dragonborn lets out a huff, and crosses her arms as Ulfric leads her back to Candlehearth. "I'll remember this, you know. A warrior _never_ forgets. Even if she is drunk."  
Ulfric chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Of course, Stormblade. Of course."


	5. A Confession

The dragonborn awoke the morning after the celebration with a pounding headache. She groans as she sits up in bed, her hands flying up to her eyes, rubbing them. She's tired, she's in pain, but most of all, she's aching to go back to sleep. The Dovahkiin looks around the room, seeing her clothes discarded on the floor, and a few mead bottles perched up on one of the tables. She questions how drunk she managed to get last night, and if she did anything truly stupid. Of course, she remembers Ralof's hands all over her body and his lips crashing into hers repeatedly, but not much else. Shaking her head, she stands up, yawns, and stretches. Suddenly, she remembers Ulfric speaking to her in her room late that night after bringing her back to the hall. She tries her hardest to recall what he had said to her, but her mind is blank.

Throwing her clothes from last night on, she opens her room's door and heads down the hall, taking a quick exit so nobody could comment or question her about the previous night. The sun hits her eyes when she steps outside, and she sighs, realizing the day is going to test her. She might as well just stay in bed. Running her hand through her hair, she begins to walk towards the Palace of Kings. The last time she was there, she was being sent off to fight at Solitude. It seemed like forever ago to the dragonborn, but, in reality, was only a few days before. Reaching the palace, she pushes open the door and is greeted by Ulfric's steward, Jorleif.

"Good morning," he says, offering her a small smile. "How are you feeling today?"  
"I'm well, Jorleif. Thank you." she replies, and looks up to see Ulfric isn't sitting on his throne. "Have you seen Ulfric?"  
"I'm afraid he's in his bedchambers still. I believe he is ill after last night."  
"I see. Do you mind if I go see him? It's kind of important."  
"Of course, dragonborn. Go ahead."

She mumbles her thanks and urges towards the war room, which, thankfully, is empty, and she pushes open the door that leads to the upstairs bedchambers. Climbing the stairs quickly but quietly, she turns left in the hall and makes her way to the end of the corridor, her gaze fixated on her destination. Exhaling softly, she knocks on the metal door, hoping Ulfric will hear.

"Come in," the deep voice comes from behind the door, and she bites her lip, pressing her shoulder against the heavy door to enter the room.  
"Ulfric." she acknowledges, closing the door behind her and standing at the foot of his bed in the centre of the room. She looks at him laying down, his hair mussed up and the bags under his eyes prominent.  
"Stormblade," he replies, his voice sounding somewhat surprised. "How are you feeling?"  
"My head hurts." she sighs, pushing her hair out of her face. "How are you? Jorleif said you are ill."  
"Not physically." Ulfric mutters, sitting up and looking at her directly. "I just have a lot on my mind. I don't want to do anything today."  
"I understand."  
"Come, dragonborn. Sit down." he gestures to his bed, and she reluctantly sits down near his legs, looking at him.  
"What are you thinking about that's troubling you?" the Dovahkiin asks, wondering if he would even tell her.  
"The Moot." he says simply, sighing. "I'm afraid in the end, I won't even become High King."  
"You worked so hard for this, Ulfric. It's going to happen, especially after liberating the holds."  
"I know, I know." he mutters, exasperated. "I'm just worried."

She looks at the man, his face tired, and she finds herself immensely attracted to him. Her brows furrowed together as she thought about his vulnerability, and she notices how inferior he looks. Tired and worried, he looks just like a regular man for the first time to her.

"I've been thinking a lot about you." Ulfric says suddenly, and she snaps out of her daze.  
"What do you mean?" she questions, her head tilting slightly to the side as she studies his face.  
"I know you have an affection for me." he replies, meeting her gaze, leaning forward slightly, getting closer. She smells the scent of honey and some sort of berry she couldn't quite place lingering off him. "I have to be honest with you now."  
"Ulfric, I-" she begins.  
"No, listen to me." he cuts her off, his eyes falling to her lips. "I have wanted you since Helgen, I'll confess. There was just something about you..."  
"Why would you ignore me during the entire time I fought for the Stormcloaks then? You're lying to me." she accuses him, feeling slightly mad.  
"As a Jarl, and the leader of the rebellion, I couldn't let intimacy get in the way. It would not have proven productive." he explains, reaching out for her face, but she flinches back.  
"So, because the war against the Empire is over, you think I will become yours? No, Ulfric. You brushed me off and it _hurt_ me. I think you're just jealous because of what Ralof and I did."

Shocked, Ulfric says nothing in return, his mouth slightly hanging open. Shaking her head, the dragonborn stands up and begins to head out the room. She throws open the door and walks away, and when she's just about to enter the war room, she hears Ulfric crying out for her to wait. She stops suddenly, hearing the faint pain in his voice. But then, she keeps walking.


	6. Chapter 6: I'VE MOVED!

This is not a story update, but rather me redirecting to you to my new profile. I have finished this story on Archive of Our Own! Thanks for all your comments here :).

Here's the new link: /works/4652646/chapters/10612992

Love,

S


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